


peanut butter vibes

by aischrolatry



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Healthy Relationships, Height Differences, Mental Health Issues, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, endgame spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aischrolatry/pseuds/aischrolatry
Summary: Seven can count on one hand the number of times he’s taken the lead. Sometimes that frightens him, the fact that she might feel he doesn’t want her. He does, god, he does. But he doesn’t want to take anything other than what she explicitly offers.Thankfully, she keeps offering.





	1. alright, come close

**Author's Note:**

> first off: **spoilers for everything**. don't read this unless you've finished the game. 
> 
> ok, so. there is absolutely no way seven is not a virgin, considering his trust issues, his job, and his age. frankly i think the only non-virgins in RFA are zen, jaehee and V lmao. so i decided to try and write a drawn-out porn fic about seven losing his virginity, because yes i am that much of a loser
> 
> tags will be added with each chapter. yeoja = woman/girl in Korean, just because writing MC or Y/N really takes me out of the fic (nameless MCs are the bane of my existence rip me)

She presses soft kisses into the crevices between his knuckles when his work is done; asks him what he wants from the supermarket when she goes shopping; pulls him off the couch when the days feel gray and helps him clean his house; waits for him in the hospital’s waiting room without complaint or pity, and always asks after Saeran.

She is a generous person. She gives, and gives, and Seven is selfish, so he takes, and takes. He lets her kiss him, shy hands curling around his shoulders as she leans in, eyes closed and mouth soft. Something inside him starves when she parts, that pink patch of skin like a sweet dessert.

Her hand is cool where it presses into his arm, fingers rubbing at the inside of his elbow. It brings all sorts of interesting feelings up his stomach and throat – Seven needs to swallow them all down and take a deep breath as she steps around his counter.

“I brought you some soup,” she says, pushing her hair behind her ear. It’s pink there too.

“Uh,” Seven says, setting a hand against his belly.

“Carrot cream,” she goes on, oblivious, and smiles. “Maybe because it reminded me of your hair?”

He can’t help but to laugh at that, even if that hunger still gnaws within. And if she frowns at him in confusion, it’s easy enough to let her think it’s just one of those days where Seven’s not all there.

* * *

Seven stares at his phone screen before deciding that asking Zen is far more humiliating than browsing the internet. Not that that’s not humiliating – it is. But it’s less.

 _God damn_ , he thinks, scrolling down Q&A websites while using one of his private proxies. He feels like he’s thirteen again and waking up with stained underwear without knowing why.

… Then again, he _has_ been farther away from a repeat incident.

* * *

Yeoja greets him with a kiss when she arrives, windswept and chilly, and Seven lets her.

He _always_ lets her – he can count on one hand the number of times he’s taken the lead. Sometimes, that frightens him, the fact that she might feel he doesn’t want her. He does, god _,_ he does. But he doesn’t want to take anything other than what she explicitly offers.

Her mouth is a bit chapped, today – he tastes bland chapstick and then the sweet press of her tongue, pumpkin spice latte, and the world kinds of tips sideways.

“W-Wait,” he manages, and takes his hand off her hip. She licks her lips, looking up at him with a cryptic look.

It lasts half a second, and then: “Too much?” she whispers, and averts her gaze.

 _Well, yeah,_ he thinks, and tries not to think of how his blood pulls down every time she touches him for longer than ten seconds. Or every time she wears that embarrassed expression. And now she wants them to introduce their tongues?

“That’s not – no, I just, uh.” Seven clears his throat. “Well, no. Maybe it is.”

Yeoja’s face goes red. Her hands, gripping the end of his shirt, go as tight as Seven’s pants feel.

“Only kind of! I’m sorry!”

She ducks her head into his chest, palms shifting to settle on his sides. A shiver trembles across Seven, rattling his lungs and stealing a shaky breath out of him.

“I should be the one to be sorry.” Her voice is muffled against his jacket, but he feels every syllable as it warmly seeps into his cotton shirt. “I don’t—I don’t want to pressure you. I know this isn’t the – I mean, all this with Saeran and your agency, well, _ex-_ agency, I guess—“

Seven tips her head up, hands cradling the lines of her jaw, the silky curve of her neck. And though she lets him, her golden eyes refuse to make contact. If only Seven wasn’t an expert at hotwiring! He leans his face closer, his stomach a bundle of nerves and electricity, and grins.

“I’m flattered. Extremely, even!”

“Really?” she asks, finally looking at him. The smile on her face is tentative, like she’s ashamed it’s there. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“Nah,” Seven replies, and cocks his head, lids his eyes. And the Playboy’s Guide said: mirrored body language is a sign that your intended partner is interested in you. And so God Seven said: I will kiss her if—

Ah, but she pulls him down before his blasphemous internal joke is ever concluded, before he can even conclude if her face went slack with desire or not.

Seven is unable to stifle a sound of surprise, spine bending to accommodate the weight of her arms around his neck. She sighs, opens her mouth, and his knees _tremble_ , but they hold, and Seven finds himself pulling her closer. His ass slams against his kitchen counter – the pain is startling, as is the noise the take-out containers make when they fall – but he only gives as good as he’s got.

Granted, it’s not much – he’s only ever kissed Yeoja herself, but he’s a cultured man and he knows what to do. Even if her tongue is wet and warm as it slides against his own, _into_ his mouth. Even if her hands, still cold, slide down from his neck to perch themselves on his hipbones.

Seven leans back when her thumb hooks around his belt loops, head swimming and breath stilted. His jeans are tight; so is his chest.

“Huh, well,” he half-laughs, feeling too warm in his skin.

She echoes him breathily, and, before she can step away – before she can even assume that Seven’s given her all he’s willing to for now, Seven leans in again, hand firm against the end of her back.

It turns out he doesn’t even have to bring her closer. Yeoja _melts_ willingly against him, a contrast against the sharp squeak she makes, and he can feel the pliable shape of her body against his even through the numerous layers she is regrettably wearing.

“Suh—Saeyo—“ she breathes, when they part for air and he decides nipping at her neck is the obvious next step. He’s always been a multi-tasker; she smells like fruity perfume and she tastes like home. Why not have both at once?

“Too much?” he asks, an equal measure of concern and amusement.

Yeoja’s hands press him closer to her. That shuts him up.

“I don’t think there’s too much, when it comes to you,” she whispers, and kisses him again.

If Seven didn’t love her already, he’d be head over heels from this sentence alone. As it is, he only moans into her mouth, eyes closed (heart open).

* * *

  

> ZEN  
>  I can’t believe this.
> 
> 707  
>  Look I just. I don’t wanna screw this up
> 
> ZEN  
>  I can’t believe you’re getting laid before me. **I can’t.**
> 
> 707  
>  Don’t be petty. Just be pretty. You’re good at that!
> 
> ZEN  
>  I can’t believe this. Is this what they call an alternate reality?
> 
> 707  
>  Yes. Sorry to say this is the true ending!
> 
> 707  
>  Unless they update this?
> 
> 707  
>  OMG I wonder if Saeran’s going to have a route?? Yeoja’s mine T_T
> 
> ZEN  
>  What are you talking about?;;
> 
> 707  
>  **Anyways!**
> 
> 707  
>  Believe your god, you heathen!! God Seven commands you! lololol
> 
> 707  
>  lolol
> 
> 707  
>  lol…
> 
> 707  
>  Okay, but really now. I need your expertise.
> 
> ZEN  
>  God;;
> 
> ZEN  
>  Fine;;;;;;

* * *

To Seven, hot spots don’t have that odd space in between words. A hotspot is Wi-Fi free for the taking, not a place that makes people go weak the knees. He wonders if he’s underestimated Zen’s playboy skills, and then looks at Yeoja’s ears again. They’re pretty ears, often with earrings hanging off of them, and he’d be lying if he said that he hasn’t thought about sucking her lobe into his mouth, pressing his teeth and waiting to discover if she’d make a noise or not. But to think humans have actually given this a name! Evolution must be a real thing, then.

He swipes his tongue across his teeth, mind whirring, and thinks of other places he could—

“Something wrong?”

Seven flinches, too surprised to play it cool. She’s staring at him, magazine still open in her lap, and the smile on her face is a mix of suspicion and honest amusement. Conversely, Seven’s is forced and awkward.

“How could it, when you’re sitting right here?”

She blushes prettily, hiding her grin behind open pages. Seven’s smile droops into a stupid one, the one that all the guys in dramas put on when they’re staring at their one and only. So refreshing! He can’t help but to lean in across the couch and press his mouth against the magazine.

“Luciel,” she says, laughing, “do you want to kiss me?”

“Whatever could give you that impression?” he replies, but it comes out all muffled. The magazine cover tastes like plastic and ink but he keeps his mouth there all the same.

So she sets down the magazine on his couch’s arm and, with one hand resting on his cheek, presses the softest of kisses into his mouth. Seven breathes in, feeling like a balloon ready to pop, and lets his body fall forward.

She squeals, laughing as he lands on top, and then the fun is replaced by less chaste kisses. It’s only too easy to get trapped in her unwitting web; he finds himself licking into her without realizing, her hands sliding up and down his ribs, her bare knees fitting like a puzzle piece around his right leg.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, resting his forehead in the flat plane of her collar. The skin is pimpled there, goosebumps all over. It makes him proud, for some reason.

“Me?” Her voice is a little hoarse. The tone dips into Seven’s stomach and into his underwear. “You’re the one who started it, this time.”

Having no reply to that, Seven huffs in amusement, and stretches to reach the lobe of her ear, thinking of Zen’s—gross, no. Not thinking of Zen. Thinking of how she tenses, fingers digging into his hips, mouth opening into the softest and longest of gasps.

“Saeyoung,” she whispers, their little secret, and her knees dig into his leg. The inside of his thigh goes aflame.

Seven’s hips twitch forward, and he stifles a groan by pressing his whole face into his couch. It’s uncomfortable, his glasses dig into his nose, and he can’t breathe. But it works. Even if another groan immediately attempts to replace its fallen comrade.

Yeoja breathes into his ear, and then sucks at the spot below it, drawing out a thrum of his heartbeat, and Seven can’t take it, he rubs into her leg as his hands grasp her sides. And he’s jacked off before, he knows what an orgasm is, but somehow this feels even better. More embarrassing, too, but she lets him use her without even blinking.

She is a paragon of kindness, as always, and he hears the rustle of her skirt as it steadily rises up her bent legs. Seven doesn’t look – he doesn’t know what will happen if he does, and he doesn’t want to add yet another fantasy to his growing list. Not if there’s a risk of coming in his boxers like a god damn teenager.

“Hey,” she murmurs, fingers hooked around his belt loops again, “okay?”

“Very,” he groans, and then feels the heat spread across his face. He clears his throat awkwardly and groans again, this time in defeat. “You’re ruining me. Ripping off my innocence with your tiny yet exceedingly skillful hands!”

“You’re welcome?” Her fingers pull him even closer, tight around fabric.

“Definitely,” Seven laughs, and rolls into her.

And that’s it, that’s _it_ , the way she clamps one hand over her mouth and folds her right leg around his hip. Seven lifts onto his arms, setting one elbow on the arm’s couch (carefully, as to not pull on her hair), and stares. She glances up at him, face pink and eyes bright, one ear still glistening, and Seven’s hips roll again.

“God—“ It is a garbled thing, his voice. She doesn’t seem to mind, leg tightening and chest twitching with an inhale. “You’re too good to me,” he adds, lowering his voice, and the hand on his belt loops lets go to grab at his ass.

Huh. _That’s_ interesting, he thinks dimly, before she squeezes and pushes down at the same time. Then there is no thought – just his dick and the coarse fabric of his jeans, and the warm place where they press against her panties.

“F-Figured you’d wear white,” he quips, despite himself. His voice is unable to remain level; it undulates and breaks like he’s a teenager again. Damn, he even _feels_ like a teenager again.

“I usually don’t,” she whispers, from behind her hand, “but I figured you’d—ah—you’d like it.”

Seven’s eyes roll back at that admission, while his hips roll up and into her, until she’s flat beneath him, legs closing around his body. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard or turned-on before, and he hasn’t even seen her naked. He hasn’t even seen her _half-naked_ , for crying out loud. This is unfair! His body is unfair, and probably rebelling against him.

“I’m just a brain trying to make a living,” he complains, and grabs at her hand with his free one.

“Aren’t we all,” she replies, cheeks like hot coals, and whatever joke she was about to make is drowned between their mouths.

Seven moans into her, half-fascinated at the way he doesn’t even have to think about how to grind – it is automatic, and natural, and the best thing he’s ever done, probably. National security hacker who made the news at least four times? Pfft. The thrill of leaking state secrets is nothing compared to _this_.

“Luciel …” Beneath him, she bites her lip and arches her back, fingers digging into the spaces between his knuckles.

“Saeyoung,” he corrects (pleads), biting at her lobe. The first pull between teeth shocks her whole being – she tenses and whines, a melody he would remix and replay for days if possible.

“Saeyoung,” she moans, and then: an impossibility, a thing just as erotic as the sound of his name in _that voice_ , “please,” and a blush, flaring and beautiful, “touch me?”

He blinks at her from above.

“Guh,” is what his brain deigns acceptable to reply.

But she only laughs, a little embarrassed, and then brings up their intertwined hands to kiss at his fingers.

“Please?”

That brings him back to reality.

“W-What do you—I mean, what do you want?” He’s choking, losing nerve despite the fact she will always be there for him. Isn’t that stupid? “What do you want me to do, I mean—“

“Calm down, God Seven,” she says, squeezing his hand.

He takes a breath. She looks away, face reddening even more.

“Well, you _know_ … Are you really going to make me say it?” This time it’s her who’s losing her nerve. Cute. So cute! Seven kisses her because he can, because she lets him, and then unlaces their fingers.

“I won’t,” he promises, and, inspired by a sudden burst of courage, adds: “not now, at least.”

Her face glows scarlet as he sits back, massaging his sore elbow.

She looks delicious, like this – her skirt nothing but a rumpled stripe around her butt, her hair fanned out across the yellow pillows, and her legs open for him alone. His heart clenches, unclenches, and then skips.

His hand brushes up her leg. It’s smooth, soft, and warm. Her underwear has a small ribbon at the front, and he has the oddest urge to peel it off with his teeth.

He doesn’t. Seven presses a finger into the fabric instead, listens to her breath skip, and then circles his fingers slowly. How sensitive is she? Does it hurt? Does he suck at this?

She eases his secret fears, readjusting herself on the couch so that she can move her hips along with his hand, and Seven’s skull is going to implode anytime soon, he’s sure. Of all the things he’s thought, he’s never once imagined this particular scenario. How many more remain undiscovered? He wants to see them all.

“You can take them off, if you—if you want,” she murmurs, and hides her face behind her arm.

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly, still mesmerized by shadows the muscles of her thighs create and erase when she moves. Pretty, pretty, so pretty! He swallows in dry and then he realizes – “Wh—what did you – _what?”_

She peeks at him through her elbows, yellow eyes sparkling.

“You can take them off,” she repeats, and Seven’s knees go a little weak.

“The—your—“

“Yes, Saeyoung.” She sounds exasperated, but she’s grinning. A little puff of air and a snicker. “Do you want to?”

Seven wants, very much. But his hands lock and his heart stills, and he thinks he should’ve watched more porn because he’s drawing a full-on blank. Then again, he doesn’t want to pound her into the couch and manhandle her into an odd position … huh. No! No, no. But, _well_ … if he just—

“Uh,” he manages, feeling short of breath, “sorry, you got me kind of sidetracked.”

“I did?”

“Ya,” Seven says, and curls a finger around the side of her panties. He wants to snap it. He doesn’t. Only rubs his thumb against the side of her butt. “Yeah, you did.”

“Good kind of sidetracking?”

He leans in and presses his open mouth against her knee. Her thighs do that lovely thing again, trembling behind his tongue, and Seven ends up snapping her underwear after all, because his impulse control has vanished.

“The best kind,” he murmurs, and she unfolds her arm, cups his cheek with a bright-eyed smile.

And when he finally gets over himself and slides his fingers into her underwear, that smile vanishes into an open-mouthed gasp. Seven loves that, he does, but his brain crumbles when he finds out just how hot and tight a woman can be. _Shit_ , he thinks, and swallows in dry, and _doesn’t_ think about what that might feel around his dick.

No. He does think about that. His free hand unbuttons his jeans and palms down, and she squeezes down on his ass, half-lidded eyes burrowing into his own. He lets her pull him down, grinding down on her leg as he reaches for a kiss.

Her hand burns through his jaw, fingernails dragging when Seven’s fingers curl inside her. She’s so warm and wet! He sucks her lower lip into his mouth, feeling daring, and shifts his hand until his thumb can reach her clit.

“Sa—“ she stutters, mouth shiny and eyes wide, “Saey—“

He can’t stand the way she sounds! He can’t stand the way his name sounds in her voice! He can’t stand the idea of it sounding right when it has always sounded so wrong.

“ _Saeyoung_ ,” she moans, and her hand slips inside his boxers, fingers digging into his buttock.

That’s too much for him – he grinds down on her and groans, deep and long, into the curve of her neck. His thumb twirls and she echoes him, legs closing around his ribs and voice high. Nice, crisp breath, smelling of cinnamon chewing gum – which tastes awful but smells so nice. His mouth is flooding.

“Good?” he asks, in a voice he doesn’t recognize.

Yeoja kisses him mid-laugh, tightening around his fingers hotly; the warmth shoots right down into his dick, and he wonders if it’s too late to put his clothes in the washer. He pushes in his fingers, feeling short of breath, but it is her chest who stutters.

He loves her, he loves her so much. As her eyes flutter closed, then struggle to open, slotting themselves into Seven’s. Dark pupils, honey-brown, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Seven thinks about leaning in to kiss her, but there is only so far his wrist can bend, and he’s more interested in getting her off than he is interested in pursuing his selfish desires.

He shifts, leaning back to see her better, and his glasses slide down his nose. The world blurs and he nearly curses, but her hand puts them back into place. She smiles at him in startling and beautiful clarity.

“Kinky,” he says, before he thinks better of it.

Her lips part— “Ma—“ and she moans, writhing in a way that will keep him awake for nights to come. But she steels herself and finishes in a throaty voice: “Maybe a little. Is it wrong to— _ah_ —to want you to look?”

He grins, resting his cheek into her palm, and pads at her clit again. Softly, just enough to see her body shiver and her eyelashes flutter; then again, and again, a firm pressure that makes her dig her knees into his ribs.

“Oh,” she breathes, and then arches her back.

She’s always been beautiful, but she’s even more so when she’s coming. He, well, he sort of humps her leg when that happens, kind of – Seven hopes she doesn’t notice. In his defense, it’s hard to stay still when she’s gasping out his name, and digging her nails into his ass, and clamping onto his fingers so hard his _dick_ goes kind of numb.

He’s definitely going to have to go wash his clothes, later. Ah, whatever. He stares at her again, and presses a kiss onto the palm of her hand. He waits, ignoring the twinges between his thighs, and smiles in-between her fingers.

When her breath goes back to normal, and her legs stop trembling, Yeoja smiles.

“Luciel, I love you, but your couch reeks of Phd. Pepper.”

“I know,” he says, and grins back, “isn’t it great, honey?”

* * *

  

> 707  
>  Lol thanks for everything
> 
> ZEN  
>  ?
> 
> ZEN  
>  What are you talking about?
> 
> 707  
>  *3*
> 
> ZEN  
>  God. Just say what is it you want to say.
> 
> 707  
>  Lol
> 
> 707  
>  I, the great emperor Seven O Seven, saw and conquered!!!
> 
> ZEN  
>  What? You’re missing a part.
> 
> 707  
>  You’re R-I-G-H-T! I did miss a part!
> 
> 707  
>  **But Yeoja didn’t lol**
> 
> ZEN  
>  ??
> 
> ZEN  
>  Wait…
> 
> ZEN  
>  Luciel;;;;;
> 
> 707  
>  Lololol


	2. how can i believe you, how can i be nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me a while longer than i thought it would because i'm swamped with college. can't guarantee it's as good as the first chapter, sorry!
> 
> in any case, thanks for reading lol

Seven doesn’t like hospitals. He supposes not many people do, but he’d rather be anywhere else anyway. Unless that anywhere is a lingerie shop full of geriatric ladies with disapproving gazes.

“Come on, Luciel,” Yeoja says, setting a hand on his arm, “stop fidgeting.”

He always gets like this in the elevators, thumbs rubbing into the belly of his index fingers and breath a little stilted. The trip up trips _him_ up, isn’t that funny? He snickers and lets her intertwine her fingers with his.

“Sorry, honeykins,” he says, sickeningly sweet, if only to watch the slightly repulsed look on the other visitors’ faces. Yeoja elbows him, frowning up at him. “Okay, _o-_ kay, I’ll stop.”

They don’t do a good job at hiding their smiles, which probably irritates the people around them even more, but soon enough the doors open, the bell rings, and the crowd clears.

The atrium lies before him, and his eyes, as always, drift off to the big blue sign reading Floor Six, Psych Ward. She notices, as always, and drags him off by the hand to the counter, already smiling at the nurse.

Seven tries to pay attention, he does, but he ends up zoning off anyway, staring at the large window behind the plush seats. He thinks of Saeran being taken out on walks, thinks of Saeran in an oversized hospital gown, thinks of the look on his face when he said, _I hate you, I **hate** you_ —

“You can go in, now,” the nurse replies, forcing a smile.

“Thank you,” she replies, smiling back genuinely, and then tightens her hold around Seven’s fingers. “I’ll catch you later,” she adds, and leans up as if she’s going to kiss him.

Seven lifts one eyebrow at that. The room is crowded, and the nurse is _looking_ , and that shouldn’t get him so jacked up but it does. But just when he decides to bend, her eyes widen, and she drops to the balls of her feet again.

“Oh, um,” Yeoja says, reddening prettily, “I’ll wait here.”

“R-Right,” he replies, and heads into the corridor. _Damn_ , Seven thinks, pressing his hand into his warm neck. _Dangerous_ , he adds, a conclusion that amuses him but doesn’t fail to be absolutely true.

Saeran’s room comes into view, and the warmth vanishes. Seven’s hand drops to his pocket, and he takes a breath, then another, and opens the door.

Saeran’s head shifts on the pillow to stare at him. Eyes half-clear and green like a moss-covered rock; they don’t narrow. The relief blooms inside Seven before he can nip it in the bud. _Dangerous_ , he echoes, and it’s shocking how it feels so different now.

“Hey-o,” Seven sings, dropping into the chair beside the bed.

Saeran nods.

“Brought you some—“

“Again?” Saeran says, and smiles – like he’s an alien from Men in Black and he’s trying to evade the Emigration Department by impersonating a human. Seven almost makes a face, but manages not to. “The nurses hate me enough as it is. Stop giving them more reasons.”

“Well, if you ate them while I’m around to get rid of the evidence,” Seven says, and places the chips in Saeran’s lap, “we wouldn’t have that problem, would we?”

They don’t talk about projectile cutlery or the swollen lip of Saeran’s former doctor, but it’s obvious they both think about it. Seven sighs, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair.

“How have they been treating you?”

“Better,” Saeran says. “I take my meds now, so.”

“Good, good,” Seven says, palms clammy. He resists the urge to wipe them on his pants. “And, uh, and what about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Saeran asks back, the moss-green giving way into a paler shade.

Seven holds his gaze, hands open and resting on his thighs.

“You know.”

“I guess,” Saeran huffs, looking away. He’s got the nicest view, at least, even if the window is bullet-proof. Jumin is more proficient at keeping people inside rooms than Seven gave him credit for.

“Saeran—“

“I still don’t know who I’m supposed to hate,” his brother cuts in, and his hand reaches for his forearm, knuckles going white.

Seven thinks: _I guess you’re supposed to hate me._ But he says: “I’m sorry.”

“I still—“ Saeran begins, and his eyes narrow, his mouth opening into that ugly snarl. “I think about killing Rika, sometimes, you know,” he mutters, hand shaking around his shoulder, “and I still think about killing you.”

“In other circumstances, I’d probably let you,” Seven says, taking off his glasses. Then he laughs, massaging the bridge of his nose. “But not this time,” he adds, and puts his glasses on again. “This is as good as it’ll get, for me. For _us_. I won’t let anyone ruin it, Saeran.”

He means it, too.

His brother turns away on his bed, offering his back. The knots of the gown are half-loose; the ends curl against his brother’s pale skin.

“Yeah,” Saeran mutters, and doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

He finger-fucks her when they get to his apartment, pressing her against the closest wall when she’s not expecting it and pressing his lips against her neck. Something twisted inside him yearns to be touched, but Seven’s hands steer clear of his jeans’ button, and instead curl and uncurl inside her.

It doesn’t go as smoothly as he’d like. It’s a great distraction tactic, but Yeoja has braved through harsher battlefields, and she’s the most resilient person he’s ever met. He shouldn’t have even tried to pretend.

“Saeyoung,” she says, fingers gripping at his sleeve, “do you— _mm_ —do you need to talk?”

“No,” he says, and sucks her lobe into his mouth. “Unless you’re into that?”

“I’m – ah, _god_ ,” she whimpers, head thrown back, thighs closing around his hand, “I’m serious, Saeyoung!”

“So am I,” he quips.

She doesn’t think it’s funny. That hurts his pride a little.

“This – this isn’t for you to avoid your feelings,” she says, throaty voice and shivering spine, and he could come right now, he really could. But the hurt in her eyes won’t let him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, watching her skin break out in goosebumps, “I know.”

“Good,” she whispers back, and pulls on his hair to bring him down for a kiss. She still tastes like espresso from a cheap coffee machine, and Seven hates coffee but he loves _her_.

They part with heavy breaths. His hand is soaked, and her hips are turning with each of his movements. And still she keeps her eyes on him, steel and forgiveness, and says:

“Don’t do it again, Saeyoung. Please.”

“I won’t,” he promises, and she lets him proceed, lets herself finish.

She gives him her underwear to throw in the wash (red-faced), he heads into his room to change his boxers, and when he gets back there are two cups of steaming tea on the kitchen table.

“Jinkies! A trap!” he gasps, flattening himself against the wall.

“Not if you walk into it,” she replies, leaning over the counter to grab the sugar pot.

Huh. He contemplates that, tip-toeing as he stares. Her jeans look very, _very_ different when Seven knows there isn’t anything else under them. He stares some more, swallows, and then walks into it. Hard not to, considering the bait.

They talk about Saeran, about Saeyoung, and about Rika – and Seven only tries fleeing twice.

* * *

They have this kind-of-schedule where she drops by after classes, if she doesn’t have anything to study for.

Seven would like to drop by her apartment, too, her _real_ one, but he gets anxious enough just laying around in his. Risking her home and her life is, while tempting (he’s so curious about her place!), isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

It still feels weird not to have a door asking questions in Arabic, but he’s got three hidden cameras and a motion sensor in the corridor, and he always knows when she’s about to knock. He opens the door with a grin, and leans down to smooch her closed fist.

“I should really stop trying to knock, shouldn’t I?” She’s grinning, holding a grocery bag with her other arm. It’s perched on her hip, wrinkling her jacket.

“It’s endearing,” he replies, making way for her to pass.

“I know,” she laughs. “That’s why I keep doing it.”

Ah, his heart squeezes! Seven grins as he follows her into his kitchen, trying to peek into the bag.

“It’s chicken soup, today.” She doesn’t even have to look over her shoulder. Has he gotten this predictable, or is she just that good? Maybe both? “Luciel,” she adds, huffing, staring at the plastic bag near the microwave, “I told you to eat something before work.”

Shit, he forgot about that.

“Well, uh, I—“

“Phd. Pepper doesn’t count,” she cuts in, rolling her eyes at him over her shoulder.

He frowns at her in an over-the-top way, hands on hips: “Let’s agree to disagree.”

She still keeps him company while he eats. It makes him feel good, the way she pretends to disapprove but always sticks around. A thing born of worry doesn’t always end well, but he’s sure he can make it through whatever life decides to throw at them. (Seven hopes the worst has already passed.)

“You have some,” she says, and gestures towards her own face.

“Some?” he replies, grinning like a kid.

“Here,” Yeoja murmurs, leaning over the round table to pick a grain of rice from his upper lip.

His face grows as warm as the soup had been. Her fingers are still chilly, but the places she touch burn to ash. Incinerated, Seven leans over too, grabbing her wrist and stealing a kiss. She squeaks, ever cute, and then laughs even as he kisses her.

“Did you miss me, God Seven?” she says, when he lets her go, and eats the rice grain on her thumb. He’s losing it, he is, going up in flames just from watching her suck on her finger.

“I did – I do, everyday,” he answers, before his nerve falters, and Yeoja’s eyes go soft. “Even when you go to the bathroom,” he adds, and she snickers, throwing back her head.

“You’re so silly.” But she’s grinning, dimples deep and cheeks flushed.

He keeps that picture as he sets the dishes on his sink, stomach turning like he’s still hungry, and sits next to her in the couch when he’s done washing. His palms betray the calm he displays on his face, growing clammy even as he tries wiping them against the knees of his jeans.

She is too good, looking at him and peeling off his act layer by layer: “Can I help you with something,” she starts, and then her eyes go honey-brown and bright, “Saeyoung?”

Ah, how he shivers, shoulders rising as quick as the flush to his face. It’s so unfair, the hold those syllables have over his whole brain. It’s just a word, a stupid word that he shouldn’t even _like_ , shouldn’t even want to use anymore. But he’ll let her, always.

“Uh,” Seven mumbles, and fiddles with his thumbs, “well.”

Thankfully, Yeoja is fluent in dweeb-speak. She’s smiling as she leans in, pressing her mouth into his and opening the kiss into something lewder. Seven wonders if he tastes like chicken – he probably does, gross, shouldn’t he have brushed his teeth or something, ew – and then forgets about it entirely as her fingers brush across his stomach.

She parts to ask, “Good?”, and he kisses her again, leaning his arm over the couch to curl it around her shoulders. Gone is the chill of the streets, now replaced by the rising temperature of blood pooling, and he needs, needs that warmth. Her warmth.

Her thumbs press into the jut of his hip, sliding in and down, and he groans into her mouth, legs shaking. _Embarrassing,_ he thinks, and breaks away to hide his face under her jaw. She smells good, always has, and he bites there, very softly. Thinks of what it would be like to draw the blood to the surface, to leave _his_ mark there – that, with the second press of her fingers, forces his hips forward, into hers.

“Shit,” he mutters.

“I want to touch you,” she says mercilessly. A soft, tentative tone shouldn’t disarm him so completely. It does.

 _Shit,_ he thinks, listening to the slow rustling of his jeans. He’s never paid attention to the push and pull of jeans being unbuttoned but he does now, yes he does, all of his shitty focus working as it should for once.

“Can I?” she whispers, and presses a kiss into the shell of his ear.

Seven doesn’t reply, afraid he’ll drool, but he presses his hands into her hips in a way that he hopes is approving. But then he says, “I can’t believe we’re doing this in the couch again,” without even realizing.

She laughs, the back of her head digging into the pillows, and he finds himself chuckling too, despite the tension lingering on the inside of his thighs. He’s half-hard already, and the thought of moving to his bed does not help. That feels like too much and too soon, but he still pictures her bare and pink amidst rumpled sheets, and his hips jolt into hers like there aren’t several articles of clothing between them.

She offers a tiny moan anyway, along with a mouth-watering visual of teeth-biting and eye-fluttering, and Seven swallows it all in while he can. Because when Yeoja’s fingers pull at the elastic of his boxers it’s his eyes that flutter closed, his stomach shuddering.

“Hey, hey.” Her voice is quiet, very soft. He breathes against her neck, smothering a groan. “Can you sit up?”

“Oh, uh,” he stammers, darting back, “sorry—“

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she replies, following after him with a beaming smile. “Just, um, it’s easier to—well,” and here she goes pinker and looks to the side. One of her fingers curls around the elastic of his boxers and Seven’s brain melts right out of his ears. “Easier to access,” she finally adds, and snorts as she sits on his lap.

There’s a joke or twelve in there, but he can only find it in himself to look down. And yeah, that’s her hand right there, amidst his open fly and the grey fabric of his underwear. _Holy shit_ , he thinks, and his breath hitches.

“H—uhh—“

Yeoja’s eyes follow after his, her head ducking a bit. Her ears are so red! He loves it. He wants to bite one.

“Good?”

“Yes,” he says, before his brain tells him to. “Definitely yes.”

Dimples and a cute smile, but Seven barely has the time to appreciate it before her hand slides between layers, flesh and fabric, and _man,_ he’s really not going to last long. Her palm is soft, warm, and he doesn’t even mind the cool air on his dick because how could he? Really, how could he – when she’s shifting against his thigh and wrapping fingers around the length of him? When she looks as satisfied as he feels, even though she’s only touching him, even though it’s only him.

“You look good enough to eat, you know,” she murmurs, and has to hide her face away.

Seven feels super embarrassed, too, but the delight overcomes that, throws it out of the ring with a marvelous and glorious suplex. His hips gyrate into her movement and his head falls back, mouth open and eyes closed.

“If—ah—if you—“ He can’t even say two words without making a noise that would look at home in a porno. She seems to like it, at least, leaning over gingerly to press her mouth against his bared neck.

“If I?”

“If you—do that, if you do that I’m not gonna—hah—last another minute,” he confesses, and his hand closes itself around the corner of the nearest pillow.

Her hand closes a bit more, delicious and maddening at the same time. Seven jerks his hips up again, and his other hand settles on her knee. How he wishes she’d worn a skirt today, how he wishes he had – what was it?  - _easy access_ – to her panties. Then again, some rational part of him argues, if your fingers were inside her then you _really_ wouldn’t last another minute. _Point taken,_ Seven concedes, and focuses somewhere else.

“You don’t have to last, Saeyoung,” Yeoja says, and licks a stripe from palm to the tip of her fingers. “I – I don’t want you to, anyway …”

Seven closes his eyes again, hand pressing around her knee. She’s killing him! He already has insomnia, he doesn’t need these sorts of pictures to keep him up at night! And they will. Of this, he’s sure. Especially when she uses both hands, thumbs pressing beneath the head of his dick when they rise, then curling over it to catch his precum.

“Oh my god,” he lets out, and his hand on her knee climbs to the side of her hip. He wants to – he wants to pull her closer, he wants to bury himself in her, he wants to do to her what she’s doing to him. “I—oh, god—I might die.”

She grinds down on his leg at the sound of his breathy voice, and if that isn’t flattering he doesn’t know what is. Her hands pump him a little faster, then, just so that he makes a choking noise with his throat, and then return to the gentler pace she’d first set.

“Please don’t,” she murmurs, and peppers the line of his jaw with butterfly kisses. “I love you, Saeyoung. I couldn’t—”

 _Ah,_ he thinks, and comes. His hips jerk up and he thinks he might say her name, but amidst the heat and pleasure he’s not quite sure. It rolls across him hard, gaining momentum until it bursts in his stomach, trickling into a place he’s not sure even exists.

She makes a tiny squeak, half of it an intake of breath, and her hands still. Seven only now realizes that he might have bruised her hip, but he’s too busy catching his breath and feeling betrayed to feel guilty. What a low blow, what a cheap shot! Whispering in his ear (those four words in succession no less!) and nearly squeezing him dry. She really is ruthless.

“Oh, Saeyoung,” she breathes, voice raspy and eyes dark.

He covers his face, and it’s so warm against his palms. Yeoja is giggling as she peels them off, but it’s not a noise of mirth. It is charged with something, nervous but deep, and a shiver runs across his back.

“Don’t _look_ ,” he moans at her, scrunching his whole face up. His hips are still shaking; she feels so hot against his leg.

“I won’t, if you want me to,” she promises, kissing each of his knuckles. “But you look—“

“Aaagh! Don’t say it!”

“Good enough to eat,” and she kisses him with a half-open mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck – his dick gives one final twitch at those words, and he looks down when they part, unable to keep her gaze for longer than half a second. Fuck, what a mess he’s made. Her shirt is stained with his come, and that shouldn’t make his stomach roil with something dark and possessive. It does, and he pictures what she’d look like with it spattered on her—

“Oh my god,” he says, feeling disgusted with himself. He scrunches his whole face up and closes his eyes again. “I’m sorry!”

“Why?” Yeoja asks, half-amused, half-raspy still. “I can always wash it, Saeyoung. I like your fabric softener more than mine, anyway.”

So pure! So endearing! He doesn’t deserve this girl.

“You bought me that fabric softener,” he argues, while he tries gathering up the courage to face her again.

“I sure did,” she replies, and smooches his cheek. “I’m just going run a rag across my shirt, okay? Love you,” she adds, getting off of him and padding to somewhere else. He hears her steps, socked feet sliding against the varnished wood, and counts to ten before he begins dressing himself again.

This is too awkward, too embarrassing – he can’t believe she managed to keep her eyes on his as she came. He can’t even look her in the _face_ afterwards. Because, because – isn’t this weird? He knows he’s not handsome, especially not while making the sort of face one does as they orgasm, God, what was he thinking letting her get her hands inside his pants? What was he thinking, being with a girl that lights up the room with her smile? What was he thinking, pretending he was good enough for her?

Her socked feet make their return to the living room, halting his thought process. Seven wipes his hands on his pants, then winces a bit, and makes an effort to look at her. She’s fast enough to almost miss his gaze entirely, launching herself into his lap again and giving him a long, wet kiss that nearly makes him crack every knuckle of his toes.

“Good?” Yeoja asks when they part, breathing hard and looking divine. “I, um, thought I lost you there for a second.”

“I saw the Gates of Heaven,” Seven replies, and reaches for her hand. The finger-intertwining is all hers, though.

“Did you knock?”

“Mmyeah,” but he kisses her instead of finishing his sentence. Soft, this time, his free hand reaching for the nape of her neck. She shudders at the touch and he thinks, _huh_. But then she leans back. And though the flush is still on her face, and the glaze is still in her eyes, her gaze means business. Jumin would probably be proud.

“Saeyoung,” and her voice is warm but unwavering, “was it too much?”

The heat goes back to his face. His treacherous eyes flit from the screen of his laptop to the houseplant she insisted on giving him, but he gets a grip and looks at her again.

“Just, uh, just after.” Her face doesn’t fall, doesn’t betray anything. The warm is still there in her eyes. He is sure it will never leave. “It’s so embarrassing!” he adds, a little petulant. “And you didn’t—I mean, _I_ didn’t—“

“I don’t have to,” she cuts in, squeezing his hand. “I like doing this for you, too.” This time it’s her who flushes, who averts her eyes. “Is it really so hard to believe I like making you—I mean, well, you _know_.”

Yes, it is. She must see it on her face, because she bites at her lip. Seven swallows, scratches at his jaw with his free hand, and squeezes her hand back.

“I liked—I _really_ liked it. I mean,” and he whistles a bit, eyes widening. She smiles, despite herself, and those dimples are a lifeboat in the ocean of his uncertainty. “It’s just, I dunno. I’ve never – and I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t – you’re too g—“

She kisses him here, letting go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck. Seven muffles his surprise inside her mouth.

“Don’t be silly, God Seven,” she murmurs. “I love you, I _love_ you.”

 The honesty in her eyes is almost too much for him. He’s glad he’s already sitting down, because his knees kind of buckle.

“Yeah,” Seven answers, and his voice does not break. It _doesn’t_ , and Yeoja doesn’t snicker as she kisses him.

And in the end, she doesn’t get hers – but she assures him that she doesn’t want it anymore, that the moment has passed, and she’s just going to stay here with him until it’s time for her bus. Seven argues a bit, inside his head. He does want to tip her into the couch and make her come around his fingers again, but his limbs are heavy and his head is still a little foggy. So they curl into one another and watch one of the movies he’s torrented just for her.

Halfway into the comedy, he realizes his apartment is so much more when she’s around.

And he is, too.


End file.
